Page 108 of My Infatuation with Isabella

“Sure. Let me just say goodbye to everyone.”

I walk out to the back to say bye to Tommy and Damon. They’re both getting their faces painted. The shape on Tommy’s face could pass for a butterfly, but Damon looks like a melting Spiderman. I take a picture of them to use as blackmail one day, then sneak upstairs to get one more precious minute with baby Neymar.

Dylan is already waiting at the door when I get downstairs again and he’s silent as we walk out to his car.

“Are you okay?” I ask again.

The question instantly melts his cold exterior, and he takes my hand in both of his to kiss my knuckles. “Let me just get my head right and then we’ll talk about it, okay?”

I nod then climb into the passenger seat. It’s uncomfortably quiet, not at all what I was expecting the start of our potential date five to be. The discomfort seems to turn into tension about two blocks from my house when the screen of his phone lights up...and there’s a voice note...from Fran. His eyes leave the road for a second and he sees it. I know he sees it, but he doesn’t react at all.

Instead, he just casually strikes up a conversation. “We don’t have to go out tonight. We can just have a quiet dinner if you want and save the date for your birthday on Sunday. I have something planned for?”

My eyes narrow as I study him, and I start to wonder if I’m the only one feeling this tension. “I never agreed to go out or have dinner or do anything for my birthday,” I cut in. “I said that I wanted to speak to you about a few things before I agree to anything.”

He instantly picks up on the hostility. He glances briefly at me before focusing on the road again. “You’re mad.”

I don’t confirm it because he knows me well enough, and I turn to look out the window. Dr. Burkman has told me on many occasions that I’m impulsive and short-tempered, and I need to reframe my negative thoughts before I react. So, that’s what I’m doing. I’m not letting my insecurities get the better of me. I’m not regressing into my inner child or however the hell she phrased it. I just want some answers.

I open the passenger door before the car comes to a complete stop. “If you don’t want the neighbors to hear our business, I suggest you come inside.”

“That bad, huh?” With a small groan, he switches off the car and follows me inside.

Words are coming out of my mouth before I even close the front door. “Explain to me this dynamic that you and Fran have now...after the divorce.”

“Bella, there’s no dynamic. We were married. Now we’re not. She’ll text me on the odd occasion if she wants the number of a plumber or she can’t remember the name of the guy who...tiled the kitchen that one time. That’s it. She’s probably asking for something like that in the voice note she sent.” He takes his phone out of his back pocket and taps on the icon to play the message. “Here, listen.”

Hey, so...uh...I’ve been waiting for you to call me...and you haven’t. I’m not sure if you’re nervous to reach out or just distracted because of Alan’s parole hearing, but this has been bugging me for a few weeks now, and you know I don’t like to leave things hanging, so? You know what? I’m just going to get to the point. I heard what you said the other day to...Shirley, I think was her name...about you wanting us to get back together.

Dylan’s eyes widen. “That didn’t happen. I mean, it did...but I wasn’t? Oh, fuck.”

I don’t think...that’s a good idea. I’m happy for us to still be friends. I...I want us to still be friends. I’m sincerely sorry for all the things I said that hurt you...I don’t want to hurt you again now...and that’s the problem with how things were with us. We got to a point where all we did was hurt each other. I just don’t think it’s going to work, especially if you end up moving like your mom is planning to.

“You’re moving?” I ask, shock constricting my voice.

“No!”

My mom told me she was even looking for locations where they could set up a new restaurant as far out as Michigan. My practice is here. My life is here.

“Your mom seems to disagree.”

“I don’t live with my parents!” He rubs a hand down his face, becoming more irritable by the second.

I’m rambling. Either way...it doesn’t matter. Look, I’ll always be there when you need me, and if you want to talk about...anything, just give me a call, but I think that’s where we should leave it. It’s better if we both just move on.

I stand there unmoving, unspeaking just trying to take in all that information. It feels like I just woke up from a dream, a dream that felt so real, but now that I know that I’m back in reality, I can see it was just a dream.

He lets out a sound that’s half sigh, half groan. “Bella, I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can...but I don’t want to hear it.” That heaviness in my chest has turned into this weird ache because I feel the weight of nine years of being kept in the dark. “When I called you yesterday, I thought we could talk about a few things, and then lay the past to rest. But now...now I see that it’s not just the past. Do you know there wasn’t a single thing in that whole voice note that I was aware of? We’ve been in therapy since January, we’ve been talking for months, and none of that was ever mentioned in a conversation, so I find myself in the very familiar position of being excluded...and Fran, who’s now yourex-wife, still knows more than me. I didn’t know you even spoke to Fran. You didn’t say one word about it to me. But then on top of that, I also don’t know who Alan is or why his parole matters to you so much. I didn’t know you weremoving.”

“I’m not!”

“And I definitely didn’t know that you wanted to get back together with Fran.” My voice cracks at the end of that sentence because I feel betrayed on the highest level.

“I don’t.” Another groan of aggravation. “Fran misunderstood the whole conversation. I was telling Shirley that I wanted my ex back, but I was talking aboutyou, not Fran.”

“Listen, Dylan?”

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